Thatch, who was ‘playing’ with the skull from the side, stopped and fixed his eyes on Raen.

  Adam and Jason – who were observing the spar together with him – froze, nervous expressions visible on their faces.

  It was a question every single one of them had, but couldn’t ask Marcus. It would be prying too deeply into his personal stuff. And none of them wanted to do that.

  “No,” Marcus answered.

  It was obvious, at least to Raen, and anyone else who had ever seen a Knight in action.

  If one called Wizards those who listen to the world’s song and borrow a note, asking the world for power, then Knights were those who commanded their own.

  That power was called ‘inner strength’. It wasn’t rare; all sentient beings had it. Some believed it to be the latent ‘potential’ all of us had, but others believed it to also be the work of the world. Recognizing our struggle and desperation, the world itself would allow us to possess a bit of its power, to wield as our own.

  But knowledge of it was rare; most people of the continent didn’t even know it existed. To them, Knights were superhuman beings blessed by gods themselves for their efforts, wielding immense power.

  A hundred regular soldiers would merely be a warm-up for a true Knight. Nothing that would make him even sweat.

  That was the disparity in strength, the difference between a powerful human and one who had reached the realm of superhuman.

  “Oh, so a Knight is stronger than you, by how much?” Raen asked Marcus, who narrowed his eyes.

  He was studying Raen, probably wondering why he was even asking him such a question.

  “The enemy General, the one who personally came with those men to attack us tonight,” Raen paused. “I heard he was at the precipice of becoming a Knight. I was just wondering how strong he was.”

  “That man is most likely as strong as me. Or slightly stronger.”

  “A Knight would be able to take me down in around 10 exchanges. I might be able to leave a light wound or two.”

  “That’s almost impossible for me to believe, to be honest,” Raen said, wiping his smile off his face and shaking his head.

  Adam and Jason were nearly trembling, unable to even imagine how powerful one had to be to best Marcus in such a manner.

  “Why do you ask? Do you wish to become a Knight?” Marcus suddenly asked, staring at Raen, causing him to chuckle.

  “I do not have such a lofty ambition, Marcus. I never had.”

  Knights were ideals. Honor and tradition tied them. Raen would never be able to become someone like that.

  He’d seen plenty of them die because of that.

  “I’ve always heard stories of Knights. Raen said, lying through his teeth. “How they are practically one-man armies. And you’re the closest to something like that I’ve ever seen.”

  “That’s why I asked.”

  Raen was good at it – lying. Lies were what allowed him to survive in the nightmare of a life he previously had.

  “Had you ever seen one. You would have immediately known I am not a Knight.” Marcus said, his face growing dark.

  “I’ve seen one before. Even exchanged a blow with him.”

  Marcus’s words were a bombshell on the training grounds. Everyone focused solely on him.

  It made him a bit uncomfortable. Raen could notice it.

  “It was 20 years ago,” Marcus continued, placing his sword down, leaning it against the wooden fence of the training grounds. “When most of you were yet to even be conceived.”

  They had all unknowingly moved closer to him, as if afraid they wouldn’t hear properly.

  “I was a mercenary back then. Member of the Iron Hounds.”

  “The mercenary company from the Irasil Kingdom?” Mark asked.

  Marcus nodded his head. “I was young back then. Full of ambition. And arrogance.”

  “We were hunting someone. A noble we were tasked with eliminating. It was a normal mission, nothing out of the ordinary – a rival noble wanted him gone.” Marcus sighed and looked at the sky.

  “Everything went according to plan.” He said, still staring up. “We attacked his mansion – all of us masked – and he fled to the woods with his loyal retainers.”

  “It was just what we wanted. No witnesses were to be left alive, nobody who could identify us.”

  “It was at a bridge leading to the woods that a lone man barred our path.” Marcus’s hand clenched into a fist, a pained expression crossing his face.

  “He was a middle-aged man. Average in appearance. And yet, we all felt immense pressure from him.”

  “He told us that if one of us managed to push him from the bridge, he would allow us to move forward. He was just paying off a debt to an old friend.”

  “One hundred and forty-three men attacked.”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Marcus’s eyes constricted. His breath stopped for an instant.

  “Only forty survived, because we ran away.”

  “He didn’t move a single step from where he stood. Didn’t get tired. In fact, I believe he was even bored.”

  Even a fly could be heard flying in the training grounds as Marcus stopped talking, everyone present frozen in place, slight disbelief on their faces.

  Mark was acting – that man had already seen a Knight before. He knew how strong they were.

  Thatch was a member of the Veil. Even if he didn’t see one in action before, there are a handful as strong as Marcus amongst them. And one strong enough to rival a Knight.

  As for Dral, he was surprised. But not in shock like the others. He had probably seen someone as powerful as a Knight back home. The tribal warriors use a completely different system of ranking strength; the code of chivalry is non-existent.

  “As I am right now, I would be able to push him from that bridge. But I see no possible way to defeat that man.”

  “He was overwhelming. His strength defied logic.”

  “If you ever see a Knight, run away. Not that it would help much.” Marcus said before standing up, grabbing his sword, and retreating back to the tent.

  None tried stopping him or talking to him. It was obvious that the topic was a sore spot for him.

  This was the first time Raen heard Marcus open up, talk about his life, his past.

  ‘The Iron Hounds … if I investigate them, I could perhaps learn more of him.’

  He thought it over, still unsure of whether to do that.

  ‘If he found out, I’d be in trouble.’

  “Good job at having him open up,” Mark suddenly arrived next to Raen, his eyes fixed on him. “But don’t do that often in the future, alright, Cap?”

  “What?” Raen shrugged his shoulders, pretending he had no idea what Mark was talking about. “I was just curious.”

  “You’ve been getting sly, Cap, very different from before,” Mark said, leaning closer to him. “I won’t ask exactly what is happening with you, as it isn’t that bad of a change. But don’t play too much.”

  His words were cold, sending a chill down Raen’s spine. This was a different ‘face’ of Mark, one that Raen had seen much later in his life. The one he made when he took his ‘mask’ off.

  “I don’t really know what you’re talking about. But fine, be it your way.” Raen chuckled, still doing his best to sell the act.

  ***

  And just like that, three days passed.

  Thanks to his injuries, Raen had only been able to start training yesterday. But Marcus and Dral went easy on him, saying that it was more important to not overdo it the first day.

  Thatch continued analyzing the skull, but didn’t seem to have gained much from it.

  It was obvious to Raen why. If he wanted to learn anything from it, he needed to go to one of the Sanctum’s secret bases. Since he was not doing that, Raen’s initial assumption was most likely correct – Thatch had left the Sanctum.

  Jason’s shoulder had gotten better. He was able to move it now, but fighting was still out of the question for him.

  Adam was training harder than ever thanks to what we had gotten through these last couple of days, and life in the camp had returned back to its chaotic normal.

  Other than the bitter taste of betrayal that still hung in the air.

  ***

  Raen sat with Marcus and Dral while the camp was on full alert. He had trained with them yesterday, but only for a short time, as his injuries had just healed.

  The camp was on full alert as the enemy army had sent word yesterday that they would come forward for talks about a temporary truce. The regiment commanders and the army commander all quickly made way to come to their battalion.

  They arrived mere minutes ago.

  “Your mind is drifting,” Marcus said, hitting Raen with a wooden sword.

  “Ouch! Dammit, that hurts, Marcus!” He yelled.

  It was a wonder how Marcus was able to deliver such immense pain in one hit without truly causing any injuries.

  “Are you thinking of the meeting coming soon? Why?” Marcus asked while staring at Raen’s face.

  “Why wouldn’t I be thinking of such an important thing?”

  “Because whatever happens, you cannot influence it, none of us can.” Marcus continued, his face stoic, as always. “The high command chooses those things, and we follow our orders; that is just how it goes.”

  “Why lose focus over something like that?”

  “You make it sound so simple,” Raen said between breaths.

  A soldier arrived, saluting before speaking. “Lieutenant Raen, you’re being summoned by the battalion commander!”

  He left.

  Thanks to his military exploits and recruitment by Kaelen, Raen was promoted to Lieutenant, holding the same position and military power as platoon leaders – just without a platoon.

  “Hmmm, I might have been slightly wrong after all,” Marcus said, turning around and leaving the field.

  Raen quickly went to Kaelen. It was impolite to let your commanding officer wait, even if you were drenched in sweat.

  “We leave in an hour,” Kaelen’s orders were simple – he just wanted to tell Raen personally. “The entire camp will move. Most of the army will march forward for the meeting.”

  He then tossed something to Raen.

  “Wear this, but shower first, you’re drenched, man.”

  It was a formal suit, in the colors of their regiment, an honor Raen received thanks to working under Kaelen now.

  He did as was ordered. He showered, then wore the formal suit, reserved for officers.

  Raen brought his weapons and got the squad ready before marching out with the rest of the battalion. They joined the other battalions from their regiment, leaving only two companies back in the military camps. They were to guard prisoners and be on the lookout for potential attacks.

  Raen was at the front, right behind Kaelen, who was marching with the other 3 battalion commanders of their regiment.

  The regiment commander, as well as a brat no older than Raen himself were at the front. The brat was nearly surrounded by other top officers and bodyguards.

  He was the army commander.

  Arandil Vi Aragosian. The fourth and youngest son of the current emperor.

  “Must I truly travel all this way … through all this … mud?”

  His whining voice carried across the formation. “Why did Father have to send me to this backwater place to command the army?!”

  One of the many bodyguards around him leaned in, murmuring something to him quietly.

  “I don’t care about protocol, nor do I care for showing respect to the enemy!”

  “I’m royalty! Something like this is beneath me!”

  Raen could see Kaelen’s jaw tighten. He exchanged a glance with the other battalion commanders – a shared look of barely concealed contempt.

  With such an army commander present, a miracle would need to occur for the imperial army to win.

  The worst part wasn’t the Prince’s constant complaining. Nor the fact that he was lowering morale thanks to it.

  The enemy could see him.

  They would immediately know that their command structure was compromised. That a spoiled child held our reins.

  Raen believed that they probably already knew that.

  ‘The main reason the Empire fell in the past wasn’t because of overwhelming power from the enemy.’ Raen thought with anger flaring up inside him. ‘It was because of the corruption within. It was because the people in power were idiots with wealthy families.’

  The makeshift scouting teams were one of the prince’s brilliant ideas. And that was what led to the beginning of the army’s downfall in Raen’s previous life. Something he managed to change this time.

  Raen doubted it would do much in the grand scheme of things, though.

  Soon, they arrived at the meeting place.

  About a mile ahead of them, the enemy army was stationed, welcoming the imperial army.

  In the middle was a tent, where the meeting would take place.

  At the very front of the army, next to their commander-in-chief, was Lucien. His blonde hair caught the afternoon light.

  The legend of tomorrow was right there. Still young, but already terrifying.

  The youngest Knight of the continent.

  The man who beheaded the Ashen Prince.

  He was right there, observing their army.

  For a moment, his eyes met Raen’s.

  ‘Ah, those eyes, just like I remembered them to be.’

  How could Raen ever forget them?

  The color of a winter sky just moments before it shatters.

  His irises were akin to shattered glass held together by will alone. Deep within those broken planes, if you stared deeply, you could see them – tiny, swirling motes of light. Like stars trapped in ice.